


we were born in the valley of the dead & the wicked

by transcendencism



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic (Video Game)
Genre: Child Abandonment, Gen, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Civil War, Implied/Referenced Terrorism, Parental Death, Pre-Class Campaign, Pre-Treaty of Coruscant, also yes i looked it up syo was still a knight, i know i was surprised too, it's just kind of crumbs right now, like... three yrs before lmao, there will hopefully be more Dad Syo moments in the upcoming chapter, what the fuck are these tags
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-16
Updated: 2020-06-16
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:28:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,874
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24761593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/transcendencism/pseuds/transcendencism
Summary: The casualties of war cannot be ignored; regardless if whether or not the Senate cares to see it, war will still exist without their supervision.A young Jedi Knight goes to salvage what's left.
Relationships: Male Jedi Knight | Hero of Tython & Original Female Character, Male Jedi Knight | Hero of Tython & Syo Bakarn
Comments: 2
Kudos: 8





	we were born in the valley of the dead & the wicked

**Author's Note:**

> the title of this fic is from "the valley" by the oh hellos; the title of this chapter is from "soldier, poet, king" by the same artist.

_Running low on resources. No medics to spare. Not enough supplies. No time._

Even in a cramped shuttle of like-minded Jedi, Shaa Le’raya doesn’t voice her distaste for the Senate, nor her almost equal disappointment with the Council for agreeing with them. The excuses felt hollow; more reasons not to sink more credits into a backwater world the Republic had desperately hoped to forget about. They hardly even offered any condolences, nothing more than a “ _we’re sorry for this loss_ ” without any effort to claim responsibility.

As far as the records are concerned, the relief mission is off the books, though the Council is aware of it. The silent transaction of clearance codes and a small cargo shuttle was their approval, even if the shuttle was... less than ideal. The seats are all taken up, leaving a few on their feet. Some of the medical supplies couldn’t fit in the cargo hold and had to be brought up in the main cabin. Shaa herself isn’t much of a Healer, she’s _certainly_ not certified, but they’ll need all the hands on deck to help the injured and hungry, and to bury the dead when it comes to it.

She’s not looking forward to it; none of them are. But this is the least they can do.

Once the shuttle touches down, everyone shuffles out and begins bringing out the supplies. They landed close to the hospital but not within sight of it, yet the air is still choked with the acrid stench of smoke. Shaa’s nose crinkles, and she considers plugging it with her forefinger and thumb; that would be insensitive to the injured refugees who have been sitting out here for _days_. She wouldn’t be too shocked if there’d be reports of lung damage from breathing it in without so much as a simple mask.

Part of her doesn’t want to be here. It’d be easier to look away from the blackened sky and column of smoke rising in the distance; she could turn and walk up the ramp back into the shuttle. But, if she did that, she wouldn’t be any different than the local military that left the refugees to fend for themselves.

She squashes the indignant spark of anger that rises in her chest: it has no use here. There are people who are hurt and scared, who most likely haven’t had treatment. The only hospital within traveling distance, besides the clinics at Fort Garnik, is the one that’s now up in smoke. So she grabs a medpac, steels her resolve, and walks further from the landing pad.

The most critically injured are kept in tents at the center of the makeshift camp, with the degree of injuries lessening as she moves outward. The other thing at the outer wall of the camp is the bodies; they’d hoped to save the surviving families from a long walk of grief through the majority of the camp. It doesn’t take long for the smell to reach her, and the scene suddenly feels too familiar: out on the fields once the opposing forces have retreated, counting the losses, writing letters to the families of the deceased.

She looks over the crowd of hunched, hurt figures (some of them are still in hospital gowns, the fabrics burnt and blackened by soot) and lets the Force pull her forward. There’s an old man caught in a coughing fit, a younger couple taking turns soothing their sick child...

And a single, scrawny shadow weaving between the dark body bags arranged in a haphazard cluster: a child looking for something. _Someone_. Shaa’s heart aches: they’re looking for family. The kid’s quick, but she strides forward and manages to catch their shoulder.

“Hey, hey,” she attempts to soothe when the child whirls around to hiss at her. Large, watery blue eyes glare up at her and, despite their small stature, she’s almost intimidated by the intensity. “Are you hurt?”

The Cathar continues to stare up at her, and she wonders if they even know Basic. She doesn’t know the kind of education there is on this planet, she doesn’t know much at all. No one likes to talk about Ord Mantell, certainly not now, not after this.

Then the resistance in their tense shoulders melts a little. Taking it as permission to investigate, Shaa kneels down. As far as she can see, there’s no surface injuries or fractures, but she won’t push her luck investigating further. “What’s your name?” She smiles and hopes it’ll put them at ease.

“... Hyroh,” they reply, scarcely loud enough for her to hear.

“Hyroh,” Shaa smiles, “that’s a nice name. My name’s Shaa Le’raya.” The child tips their head in acknowledgment, but doesn’t say anything else. She doesn’t need the Force to know that they’re uncomfortable, and she can’t blame them. Ord Mantell hasn’t known peace for a long time, longer than this child’s been around, but she can’t imagine they’ve ever gotten used to it. And, despite the fighting, the unrest hasn’t ever reached this scale. She can’t see the future, but there’s no way things on Ord Mantell will be the same after this.

Since she’s here, and they seem willing to answer questions, she might as well do some of the Healers’ paperwork for them. “I’m going to ask you some questions, if that’s okay?” Hyroh nods, and she gives them another reassuring smile as she unlatches the datapad from her belt. “What’s your gender and pronouns, Hyroh?”

“Uhm, I’m a boy,” Hyroh mumbles, “it’s, uh, he. He and him.” 

He looks suddenly nervous, more than he’d been earlier, and she tries to reassure him with another smile. “How old are you?”

“Eleven.”

She adds it to her notes on her datapad before drawing in a grounding breath. Hyroh doesn’t appear injured, but that doesn’t mean she can leave him. If Hyroh’s here without any guardians, she can only assume the worst, and she’ll have to hand him over to the Healers. Shaa puts the datapad back on her belt and places her hand on his shoulder again; he doesn’t flinch away this time. “Hyroh, do you know where your family is?”

As she’d figured, the young boy clams up, and the Force twists with grief as he starts to shake under her hand. “I--I can’t feel them. I’ve been looking, but I can’t,” his breath hitches, and those deep blue eyes shine with newborn tears, “I can’t find them.” His face scrunches up, lips curling back as his breaths become more desperate. “They worked there; they helped people, they just--they only wanted to _help_.”

 _Damn_ . There’s an ugly, boiling rage under her skin; the hospital had been targeted by a terrorist attack, but Fort Garnik was too concerned with keeping its own base secure to send help when reports came in that there were intruders. And now this boy, this _eleven-year old_ boy is left without a family. “It’s going to be okay,” she says, hoping it sounds true, and gently rubs her hand up and down his upper arm. “I’ll take you to someone who can help you.”

“ _No_!” Anguish and fear mangles his already small, trembling voice. “I don’t want to go!” He moves away from her, drawing his hands up to his chest. When Shaa reaches out again, he cowers back from her touch. “I’m not going!”

“Hyroh, I know you’re scared.” This is escalating too much and drawing attention. The _last_ thing she needs right now is to strain relationships more by frightening a little kid; how would it look to these poor people if she dragged him away _screaming_? “This is scary, and you don’t know what’s going on, but I _promise_ I’m only here to help.”

She takes an experimental step forward and, thankfully, Hyroh doesn’t match it with a step back. Even with him once again in arms’ reach, Shaa doesn’t make a move to grab him. The best thing she can do right now is convince him to come willingly. “I want to make sure you don’t have injuries I can’t see, and if we can do something about your family. Okay?”

Hyroh doesn’t look convinced, but he drops his arms back down to his sides. She chances returning her hand to his shoulder, and holds back her sigh of relief when he relaxes under it. With a little more confidence, Shaa keeps holding his shoulder and guides him towards the path she came from. Surprisingly, considering his earlier resistance, he follows her lead, short legs scrambling to keep with her pace. It’s not that she’s walking fast, the poor kid is just _that small_. If she wanted to be optimistic, she’d figure his family might just be on the short side. But with the way his shirt drapes off his bones like a curtain, and his toothpick knees look too frail to support him, optimism feels like an insult.

This whole thing feels like a damn insult: the cramped shuttle that could barely fit fifteen Jedi (not to mention the supplies they had with them), the corpses in trash bags making a wall around the camp, and the poor boy just looking for his family. If it’s an insult, Shaa doesn’t know who it’s aimed at. The Republic for being incompetent? The Jedi Order for being complacent with said incompetence? The Cathar for just trying to find a home?

Her head feels too warm, those bitter, angry thoughts generating tangible heat to burn her up inside. The code’s mantra echoes in one ear and into the other, a pendulum swinging back and forth to remind her that right now, as frustrated as she is, she has a duty as a Jedi to carry out. The anger will come later once she leaves this planet and, once again, both the Senate and the Jed Order forgets it’s here at all. Then, she can be angry.

There’s a small tug on her skirt, and she withdraws from her thoughts to look down at the Cathar walking beside her. “It’s okay,” Hyroh’s voice is scarcely loud enough to hear, even though the medical camp is startlingly quiet. “I’m angry too.” Was she really being that obvious? “I don’t know why everyone’s fighting.”

Grief stings painfully in her chest, so much so she’s not even sure if it’s _her_ grief. She draws her mental shields tighter, but that maelstrom of hurt and confusion continues to trickle in through the cracks. His emotions are overwhelming, and she starts to wonder if there’s more to it than just strong feelings. Once they’ve reached the medical tent and she’s passed him off to the Healers, she’ll have to contact the Council. 

“I don’t know either,” Shaa admits, and it’s true. The current conflict is messy, its context and history even messier. Even though, as far as she knows anyway, Hyroh has lived here his entire life, he doesn’t understand it either. Maybe it’s his age, or maybe things are just… complicated.

Hyroh glances up at her again. “Miss Le’raya?” She hums, tilting her head towards him. “I’m sorry for being mean.”

“Mean?” She almost laughs. “I wouldn’t say you were being _mean_.”

The young boy shrugs his small shoulders. “It’s not nice to hiss at people, though.”

“You didn’t hurt my feelings,” she smiles, and that seems to ease the guilt creasing his brows, “you have a right to be wary.” The smile slips off her face. It doesn’t feel fair though, that he was afraid of her, or afraid at all. “You were just trying to protect yourself.”

They’ve reached the center of the refugee camp, and Shaa grips his shoulder tighter and directs him away from the critical care tents. She doesn’t know how long he’s been here looking for his family, but she’s sure he’s seen more than a boy his age ought to. Instead, she heads back towards the shuttle, where one of her fellow Jedi is recording the names and information of the injured.

“Syo?” Odd, she figured he’d be in a critical care tent with a patient. The other Jedi looks up and gives her a small smile, before his eyes shift to the Cathar boy by her side. “Could I have a second?”

“Of course,” Syo says, already up from the makeshift desk. He approaches them, his footsteps deliberately light as if he’s scared Hyroh might run off. She unclips her datapad from her belt and hands it to him, dipping her head as he mumbles a thank-you. “Hyroh,” he tests the name and glances at the boy for approval. When he nods, Syo returns it with a warm smile. “It’s very nice to meet you, Hyroh. I’m Jedi Knight Syo Bakarn.”

Hyroh gasps. “You’re a Jedi?”

Shaa pulls her hand from his shoulder, worried that he might bolt; she doesn’t want to restrain him. But the expression on his face is one of excitement and awe. “I am,” Syo chuckles, “so is Knight Le’raya.”

She smiles when Hyroh whirls around towards her, his mouth falling open. “We were sent by the Council to come help you,” she explains, kneeling down to his height. “Knight Syo is going to make sure you’re not hurt, okay?”

He pauses and glances up at the other Jedi, then back at her. “You’ll come back, right?”

Her heart nearly breaks when she sees his lip trembling. “I promise, Hyroh.” That doesn’t seem to satisfy him, and she refrains from sighing. She’s not frustrated at him, and she doesn't want him to get that impression. “I’m going to talk to the Council to see what we can do about your family. I’ll be back as soon as that’s done.”

After a moment, he nods and reluctantly steps away to join Syo. Shaa waves at the pair before they turn around and head towards an examination tent, then makes her own way back to the shuttle. It’s a relatively short walk, and soon she’s up the ramp and turning on the holo-terminal. She props her hands on the terminal and leans her weight forward.

“You look tired, Knight Le’raya,” a smooth, mechanical tone comes from above her. The artificial blue light floods the room, and Shaa leans her head back to look at the ghostly Kel Dor Jedi Master. Though the mask obscures most of his face, she figures he might be frowning.

She smoothes the disgruntled fabric of her robes. “It’s tiring work here, Master Zym. If only the Senate had agreed to send aid.” She knows she ought not to argue with the Grand Master, but she can’t resist the smallest swipe at him regardless.

He gracefully dodges her comment as if she hadn’t said anything. “How are the refugees?”

Shaa shrugs and gestures to the cramped interior of the ship. “We’ve been making do with the supplies the Council allotted, but there are some in critical condition, and Fort Garnik refuses to allow us access to their medical equipment,” she grits her teeth as she continues, “because they’re concerned that there might be _terrorists_ planted within the refugees.” She breathes in before letting it out, imagining the fire in her stomach calming back down to a dim ember. “But that’s not why I’m calling.”

“Does this matter require the whole Council?” Master Zym asks, and she shakes her head. He lowers himself into his seat and folds his hands together. 

She’s always envied the measured way he moves, even in such a simple action as sitting down. Then again, that kind of grace generally comes with experience; experience she doesn’t have. “I believe one of these refugees is Force-sensitive: a Cathar boy named Hyroh. According to him, his family is gone. I didn’t want to press him for more information than that, but I assume that his parents were inside the hospital when it... well.”

The Grand Master nods solemnly. “Does the boy have any other family members?”

“Not that I know of,” she folds her arms across her chest, “he didn’t mention anyone else.” She taps her fingers on her forearm, trying to squash down the anxiety bubbling up. There isn’t much to support her claim that Hyroh might be Force-sensitive, but what’s the alternative? Once they’ve expended their supplies, the Jedi will be called back to Coruscant, and Hyroh’s fate will be left up to… who _knows_?

Though she’s trying to hide it, Master Zym picks up on her fear anyway. “Ask the boy if he has any relatives that we can contact, then bring him to Coruscant. We’ll evaluate him and consider him for training.”

She breathes out a sigh of relief. “Thank you, Master Zym.”

“May the Force be with you.” With that, Master Zym’s ghostly holo-image fades and the shuttle returns to darkness. Shaa’s shoulders sink as she drops her head, the last of the tension bleeding out of her. Even if Hyroh’s not Force-sensitive, they wouldn’t just send him back to Ord Mantell. She shudders at the thought of the poor boy prowling the grounds of the refugee camp, looking for his family and never finding them.

She decides it’s better not to think about it, and so she pulls away from the terminal and heads back down the shuttle ramp.

Time to break the news.

**Author's Note:**

> this is the first fic of this length i've written in a nearly a year (the last one being a fic about aric and my old f!trooper, if anyone remembers that) and! the first multi-chapter fic i've ever written! granted, the next chapter isn't actually written yet, but it's in the works!
> 
> after this chapter, there is one guaranteed chapter, and a third sort-of epilogue chapter that i'm hoping to write as well.
> 
> thank you so much for reading!! i'm hoping to be able to write more stuff like this!


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